


Let It Rain

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Frottage, Horse Racing, M/M, Telekinesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 21:17:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15470253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: High King Eliot seeks a prize from Quentin after winning a horse race: sexy hijinks ensue.





	Let It Rain

**Author's Note:**

> This is for @Quentin’sHair on Twitter, who wanted a water-themed fic. I hope it fits the bill! I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for fun. Comment and kudos are magic! Enjoy.

Let It Rain

By Lexalicious70

 

“Steady on, your majesty! Hai, hai! Yes, _yes_!” Tick Pickwick shouted as Eliot ran Whitespire’s steeplechase course against half a dozen other men who had signed up for the monthly race. Quentin and Margo sat in the royal spectator’s box, where an awning had been hastily tossed up to guard them against a sudden downpour. The rain had since dwindled to a drizzle but the race course was sloppier than cooled oatmeal, and Quentin winced as one of the horses slipped and dumped its Lorian rider.

 

“Jesus! I can’t believe we didn’t cancel this when the rain started—fuck!” He gasped as Eliot and his palomino gelding, Midas, cleared a hedge with what looked like only an inch to spare. Both horse and rider were caked in mud, but Quentin caught a flash of Eliot’s confident grin as he took the lead from a local villager on a chestnut mare. Tick, a longtime fan of the steeplechase, leaned forward as if he meant to join the race on an invisible mount.

 

“Dig in, your highness! You are nearly victorious—yes!” Tick threw both arms in the air. “Huzzah for the king!” He shouted as Eliot broke the finishing ribbon. Margo glanced over at him.

 

“How much coin did you bet on Eliot this time?” She asked, and Tick’s grin turned slightly guilty.

 

“T’was only a few pieces of gold, your majesty . . . by the by, of course, nothing formally arranged!”

 

“Of course,” Margo drawled as she got to her feet. “This goddamn weather has me damper than the village whore on Ladies’ Night. I’m going in to change.” She walked off toward the castle, her ladies-in-waiting fussing along after her, as Eliot came trotting over. His horse’s underbelly dripped muddy water, and his silk riding shirt and form-fitting breeches clung to him in a way that Quentin found almost sinful.

 

“Well?” Eliot demanded as he slid from Midas’ saddle and handed the reins over to a nearby stable hand. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?”

 

“You ran a great race, El. I think Tick was excited enough for all of us.” He glanced over at Tick, who was giving the stable hand instructions about Midas’ care, which Eliot always ensured; he was fond of the horse, which been sold at auction because although his dam could speak, Midas had been born without that ability. Eliot seemed to sense the gelding’s capacity for speed, however, and they made a made a team that had yet to be defeated on Whitespire’s courses.

 

“Maybe so, but I thought you were my number-one fan!” Eliot put his arms out and walked toward him. “Come, give daddy a cuddle.”

 

Quentin backed away.

 

“Don’t you _dare_ , El!”

 

“What? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of getting dirty . . . or wet. Thank you, Tobias.” Eliot nodded to a young page who brought him a travel bottle full of water. The container was one of the few things Eliot had brought with him from earth and preferred it over the sheepskin bladders other riders used. He up-ended the bottle and squirted some water directly into his mouth. Quentin’s cheeks went pink as he watched Eliot lick his lips but he scoffed.

 

“I’m not afraid of either, but look at you! You’re a—”

 

A steady stream of water, directed at his face from Eliot’s water bottle, cut Quentin off. He gasped as it splashed against his mouth and nose, then dripped off his chin. He stared at Eliot in astonishment and the taller magician smiled.

 

“Ooops.”

 

Quentin blinked, wiped his face, and then his dark eyes narrowed.

 

“Oh. You. Are. _Dead_ , Waugh!”  He stripped off his black outer coat and tossed it over the railing of the royal viewing box and charged Eliot. Eliot gave a yelp of surprise mixed with laughter and led Quentin on a chase that circled the viewing box twice and then to a clover-filled field beyond its rear. It began to rain again and Quentin’s clothes were as soaked as Eliot’s by the time he caught up with Eliot and tackled him. They tumbled into the wet, fragrant clover, laughing and slapping at each other as they tussled. Quentin gave a laughing shout of protest as Eliot pinned him and smeared his clothes with mud.

 

“Aaagh! El!”

 

“Is my little king all dirty now? Hmmm? Is he a dirty boy?” Eliot grinned, rocking his hips as he felt Quentin’s cock hardening against his. The rain graduated from a sprinkle to a shower, washing some of the mud from Eliot’s face and hair. Quentin squirmed.

 

“Eliot . . .”

 

“My little king likes being dirty, doesn’t he!” Eliot leaned forward and pinned Quentin’s wrists to the wet earth. Quentin gave one more token squirm of protest, as he always did, along with a low huffing sound that Eliot adored. Eliot force-pinned his hands to leave his own free and stripped off his boots and breeches before undoing Quentin’s and yanking them down. Quentin watched, his cock fully erect now, his tawny hair crowned with glittering drops of rain. Eliot straddled him, snugging their cocks together, and began to roll his hips to create a slow build of friction. Quentin moaned and Eliot leaned forward to slide his hands under Quentin’s shirt, where his fingers stroked and tugged at his nipples.

 

“Fuck!” Quentin gasped, his hips arching upward, and Eliot gave him a demanding, tongue-sucking kiss before pulling back, Quentin’s lower lip caught lightly between his teeth. Quentin’s eyelids lowered halfway, dark eyes gleaming as he gave in to Eliot’s playful ministrations, and Eliot let go, giving the glistening lip a loving lick as he did so. Quentin tossed his head and his hair came loose from its half-tail to spread out on the wet clover. Eliot ran his hands through it and ground himself against the smaller man.

 

“Fuck, is it? What a filthy, pretty mouth the little king has! Maybe I should use it in the way you suggest!” He tugged on Quentin’s hair, electing a shudder of delight from his lover, and watched the fingers of his force-pinned hands twitch. Eliot pulled his own hands away and used his left to play with their cocks, pushing them together and teasing the shafts until the heads of them both became wet with slick and rainwater. Quentin gave a low, needy sound in his throat, one that Eliot knew well, and he ran a thumb firmly over the head of Quentin’s cock as he leaned forward.

 

“Come for me, my dirty little king!” He whispered in a fierce, demanding hiss, and Quentin shuddered hard as he obeyed, his cock pulsing against Eliot’s. Eliot let it fountain over his hand before giving his own erection four or five quick tugs before riding out a powerful orgasm that left him flushed and panting. He tipped his head back, letting the rain cool him down. Quentin gave a weak squirm and Eliot smiled down at him.

 

“I’d ask if you give, but it’s clear you already did.” He freed Quentin’s hands and Quentin pushed at him. Eliot relented, chuckling and rolling to one side, where he propped himself up on one elbow. Quentin turned his head to look up at him.

 

“I totally let you pin me,” he declared, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

 

_That fucking sinful mouth_ , Eliot thought, _has no business on a boy this soft_.

 

“Like hell.” He said with a touch of his royal arrogance, then reached down to stroke Quentin’s cheek. “So. Do you still hate getting dirty?”

 

Quentin’s long lashes swept halfway down at the touch, a raindrop dripping off one and onto Eliot’s hand.

 

“The dirty little king admits to nothing . . .” The clever dark eyes tipped up to meet Eliot’s amber ones. “But he does, however, declare that payback is always a bitch.”

 

Eliot grinned and ran a thumb along Quentin’s lower lip.

 

“Oh, I look forward to it, your majesty.”

 

_END_


End file.
